


The Heart and Stomach

by MollyC



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5.08 Changing Channels, 5.22 Swan Song, Alternate Universe - Canon, DCBB, Dean/Cas Big Bang Challenge 2012, First Person, Multi, Threesome - F/M/M, bad language, show-level violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 13:50:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MollyC/pseuds/MollyC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's bad enough waking up with the mother of all hangovers, but then your angel doesn't recognize you and there's some strange guys in your room and no one seems to know you or your sister.  And all this when you thought you were looking into the guy who got smashed by the Incredible Hulk.  Dina Winchester's life is nuts sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When I woke up (it sounds better than "came to"), I felt like the morning after free tequila night. I hold my liquor damn well, better than Sammy even though I'm thirty pounds lighter, but everyone has limits and I've had some serious fucking hangovers in my life. This one was up there when it came to sheer suckiness—pounding headache, surging nausea, a taste in my mouth like a shapeshifter had molted in it. What worried me was that I didn't remember doing anything to have earned the hangover.

I sat up and _so_ wished I hadn't. The room spun around me. I braced my hands on the mattress until I was pretty sure I wasn't going to just collapse if I tried to stand, because I needed to get to the bathroom like five minutes ago. And drink something. Take it from someone who's been around drunks since age four: you can take most of the edge off a hangover with plain old water. It works better if you drink the water at the same time as the booze, but a lot of what causes a hangover is dehydration so after works too.

I staggered the few steps to the bathroom, trying to remember the night before. We'd only just gotten to our latest lead, which meant there was no reason to have gotten plastered in celebration of a successful hunt. No one had died—at least, no one I knew personally had died—so no drinking to absent friends. I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror for a minute, but my reflection wasn't helping any more than my memory so I gave it up and swallowed a few handfuls of water before using the toilet.

By the time I was done, I felt a little better for the water. My clothes were nasty since I'd slept, or passed out, in them, and what the hell, I was already in the bathroom so I stripped off, wondering when Sam was going to get back from wherever (Breakfast? Coffee, oh please coffee?) so I could ask what I'd done the night before. I had one foot in the tub when I heard Cas's voice out in the room.

"Taking a shower, Cas," I called. "Be out in a few minutes." Much as I wanted to know why I had a headache like the wrath of God—Cas being a good person to ask about the wrath of God, even—I wanted hot water on my back more, and besides Cas wasn't likely to know what fun I'd gotten up to. Cas is bad at fun.

That was about as far as my train of thought got before the bathroom door flew open hard enough to hit the wall and rebound. There I stood in not a friggin' stitch, looking at a Castiel who totally had his smiting face on. He glared at me as I jumped and tried to cover myself. "Cas, Jesus, I'm naked here!" I barked. (I didn't squeak. I don't _squeak_.) "We talked about this, you still can't-"

"Who are you?" Cas growled right over me. He took a step towards me and suddenly I was running out of bathroom. I backed away as much as I could, which wasn't much, and fetched up against the towel bar.

So I freely admit that Cas is one sexy son of a bitch when he's smiting things, or looks like he wants to be, but trust me: it's _way_ more awesome when it's pointed at someone who is not you. And Cas asking me who I was was frankly fucking scary, because it implied that something was seriously, seriously broken in his angel brain. I mean—Cas in 2014 (oh God that was _never gonna happen_ ) knew me on sight, and he wasn't even an angel anymore. Whereas this Cas still had the trenchcoat and the stupid sex hair and oh _shit_ the angel sword in his hand.

"It's me," I said, a little desperately. "It's me, Cas, what the hell."

The smiting face was not going away.

He crowded me into the wall, the towel bar digging into my spine uncomfortably. Under other circumstances I could've gotten into it, but the point of his sword had settled under my chin and he was eyeing me from about four inches away, which was a little close even for us. Low and furious, he demanded, "Who are you, and why do you carry my Grace?"

I was trying to come up with an answer that wouldn't lead to immediate brain-kabob when I heard a man call, "Cas, that you?" from the room. Cas didn't look away from me, but he raised his voice a bit to be heard over the shower and said, "In here, Dean." Which: _what?_

A guy stepped into my line of sight over Cas's shoulder. He was maybe two inches taller than me, damn good-looking, wearing the same kind of rugged, practical clothes Sam and I live in when we're not digging out the FBI agent suits. And he looked really familiar, but I couldn't nail down why. Behind him loomed a second guy, really tall and _really_ broad, who resembled the first guy a lot around the eyes—brothers, I thought. The second guy was almost as hot, in a kind of adorable puppy way, and just as weirdly familiar.

The first guy took in what was happening and pulled a gun.

Well. He pulled _my_ gun. My 1911, the one that was not in my pile of clothes because even trashed I'm not dumb enough to fall asleep with a gun in my pants, but apparently I _am_ dumb enough to not pick up a weapon when I get out of bed hung over.

"Is it Meg?" he said, calm and controlled and all-systems-go; the tall guy was on alert too. Hunters, had to be. But I'd never met them and how did he know about...

"No I'm not _Meg_ ," I snapped. "How did you guys get in here anyway?" It was a little late to pretend I was just an innocent bystander, given that I'd called Cas by name.

"It's our room," the big guy said, in a well-duh way that reminded me of Sam being snotty. He hadn't produced a weapon yet, but his hand was near one, I could tell from his posture even past Cas and the first guy.

"It is not your room!" I said. Right then Cas decided to get back into the conversation. "I won't ask again," he snarled. " _Who are you?"_ And he jabbed up a little with his sword.

Flinching away from it I yelped, "Dina! My name's Dina Winchester, who the hell are _you?_ "


	2. Chapter 2

Everyone froze. Including me, because I didn't want to startle Cas into doing something I'd regret.

The first guy did not lower his gun, but after a second he said, "Well, that's really interesting, lady, because I'm pretty sure I'd know if I had a sister."

That was when it hit me; it clicked into place like one of those magic eye posters that made my head hurt. He looked so familiar? Because make my jaw a little squarer and give me some stubble and he'd be what I saw when I looked in the mirror. His gigantic buddy was slightly longer hair and maybe some eyeliner away from being Sam. "Holy shit," I said. "You're Sam and...Dean?"

"Sam, get some handcuffs," the first guy, OK _Dean_ , said shortly, just like I would've said it. _Sam_ said, "Yeah, on it," in precisely the tone of fascination I expected and vanished for a second. He came back with handcuffs in one hand and a flannel shirt in the other.

Cas really didn't want to back off enough for me to put the shirt on but Dean talked him into it and got Cas's version of what had happened while I did the buttons. The damn shirt fell to my knees, because apparently as a guy Sam has shoulders like a friggin' linebacker. I didn't get the chance to roll up the sleeves, though; as soon as the buttons were done Dean spun me and cuffed my hands behind my back. Then we all marched out into the room proper and they sat me on one of the kitchenette chairs.

Dean pulled the other chair around and sat straddling it with his arms folded over the back, still with his gun casually in hand. I didn't like the look on his face. I knew that look; I spent ten years wearing it—still would be if it wasn't for Cas. Sam leaned on the wall, watching me like I was a particularly interesting bug, and Cas stood off to one side glowering. At least he'd put the sword away. Someday I'm gonna find out where those go when the angels aren't using them.

"So I think I've seen porn that starts like this," I said, when no one else talked at first.

"I'm just wondering who you really are," Dean said. "You got my scars, Cas says you have his Grace, but what're you doing here?"

"Your guess is seriously as good as mine," I said. "I woke up with the mother of all hangovers, wouldn't mind some aspirin for that by the way, and I was getting all set to take a shower when Cas showed up. And then you two." I tried to shrug, which isn't as easy as you think with your hands at the small of your back. "Look, run the drill if you want but if I'm a shapeshifter I'm pretty friggin' incompetent and Cas'd be able to tell if I was a demon. And by the way unless you were smarter than I was you did _not_ know you had a sister." That still stung, that Dad hadn't told us about Evie. If he had we might've been able to save her, damn it.

"Ours was a brother," Sam said. He and Dean shared a look that was as good as a full-body flinch. "Adam, his name was Adam."

"Wow. Way more dick in my family around here," I said. Silence fell.

"How did you get here?" Cas asked suddenly. He still sounded unhappy, but not at me anymore (and yeah, I think it's weird as hell that I get those distinctions out of the King of the Poker Face).

"Cas, you're buying this?" Dean said, twisting a little in his chair to look at the angel. He was thawing, willing to consider the possibility, and I was kind of embarrassingly relieved; I knew exactly what Dean was capable of getting up to if he decided I needed encouragement to tell the truth.

"I don't think we have much choice, Dean," Cas said. "She bears my mark, just like you do. It's my Grace. It's very...unsettling." Which, OK, kind of insulting. Especially when Dean looked gratified. But that was Cas all over, so what was I complaining about? He's just like that.

"Fine," Dean said, and turned his attention back to me. "Tell me something only I would know."

"Um...yeah, I guess Rhonda Hurley isn't gonna work this time," I said, and Dean's eyes widened. "Really? But it wouldn't be weird for you to, I mean unless you're gay here or something...?" Dean's expression was sliding from horrified into pissed off—not gay after all, I decided—so I said quickly, "Dad! In the djinn dream. The picture with the stupid Christmas sweater? And instead of my necklace I had a Saint Christopher's medal." Dean looked a little more convinced, and I continued, "Come on, I swear. Dina Winchester, that's all. I don't even remember what I did last night to get the hangover, OK? So how I got here, I got no clue. I'm betting it's not Zachariah at least. Nothing in it for him. Plus he hasn't showed up to gloat." I paused. Sam and Dean were looking at each other, exchanging opinions just like Sammy and I would've. Cas was watching Dean.

So here's the thing. I knew that look—the way Cas was watching Dean. That look was the reason I took him to the hotel when he told me Raphael was probably going to kill him in the morning. I know what it looks like when a guy wants me. Dean seemed to be oblivious. But after a second Cas turned and looked at me and I felt that _shock_ when our eyes met. Because apparently it doesn't matter which Cas it is, it's just Cas for me now.

I want to know when I turned into a character on _Dr. Sexy_. (Which, damn, I was gonna miss the new episode unless I got home, unless they had it here and since they had basically _me_ here it wasn't a bad bet. Have to see if this Sammy was willing to watch it with me too.) For a girl who used to be a total slut (and occasionally a whore, when the pool tables were slow—seriously not a big deal; I like fucking anyway, might as well cover the rent), it was kind of a shock to suddenly only want the one guy. Fortunately Cas had gotten with the program on the whole sex thing, once he worked out it was awesome—though now it was kind of harder to explain why it wasn't cool to just show up when I was in the bathroom. Once we met back up with Sam we took to getting two rooms because otherwise you would not _believe_ the bitching I got from her. Like she'd never ever hung a sock on the door herself.

 _Anyway._ I'm a total pussy these days, Cas-here was pining for Dean like Jimmy (poor bastard) had pined for hamburgers, and clearly Dean was in total denial. I mean I couldn't really blame him—it took me long enough to figure it out, and I _like_ guys.

Seriously, it was after Alastair before I got a clue. At first I thought Cas just looked at _everyone_ like that.

I know. What can I say? He's an angel, you don't expect it, OK?

But the thing was, I'd caught Dean a couple times too now, looking at Cas, and it's not just my lying faces I can see on other versions of me, even when the other version has five-o'clock shadow. I'd have bet Rudy's knife that Dean wanted Cas too, and since he was straight he had that want so far in the closet it was in fucking Narnia. (Yes, I read those books. Try not to faint.)

I was distracted from thinking over what I should be doing about that when Sam shrugged and Dean made my "If you're sure" face. Sam said, "Man, she's _you_. I can be wrong about a lot of things, but not this."

"I agree with Sam," Cas said. He didn't sound happy about it. Dean glanced at his angel, then turned to me. I tried to look trustworthy.

"OK," Dean said, and put his gun away. "Let's get you that aspirin."

* * *

My clothes went in the laundry pile with tags of dental floss to identify them. It turned out Dean's jeans fit me fine, and the extra give in his t-shirt that he needed for his shoulders made room for my tits so that worked out too (and he still had my favorite Van Halen shirt, the bastard, the one that had gotten ripped right before Hell). Of course I had to put my only bra back on, and he drew the line at lending me underpants, but within an hour I was clothed, clean, and about as ready to face the day as I was gonna get. Sam even went out again to get me coffee.

When he got back, Dean and I were deep in a discussion of why _The Elder_ was a better concept album than _Imaginos_. (Quick answer: because it's not a pretentious piece of crap, "Odyssey" notwithstanding.) "Any song with an eleven-word title, dude," I said, as Sam pushed back into the room, and Dean nodded and replied, "It's not even a good song."

"BOC is hit-or-miss anyway," I said. Sam handed me the cardboard cup and I smiled at him as I ripped the lid off. "You have saved my life," I said, and gulped. The coffee was almost hot enough to scald, and I didn't _care_. It was caffeine.

"No problem," Sam said. He took a seat on one of the beds, since Dean and I were using both the kitchenette chairs (Cas was leaning against the wall, watching me and Dean alternately and brooding.) "I just got it like Dean, uh…"

"'S perfect," I said, kind of not too distinctly around my coffee. "You're the best little brother ever."

Sam gave his brother a triumphant look and said, "See? Someone appreciates me."

"Shut up, bitch," Dean said. His heart wasn't in it, but it made me laugh anyway and I almost choked on my coffee when Sam rolled his eyes and replied, "Make me, jerk."

I mean it was _eerie_. Their voices were lower, but otherwise? Perfect.

"So we have to figure out how to get me back," I said, when I was sure I could do it without spitting coffee all over everything, which would have been a waste of good caffeine. "I mean, don't get me wrong, it's kind of awesome to see I'm just as hot as a guy. But I can't leave Sammy alone, and Cas is probably going crazy." I glanced at the angel, who still looked deeply disturbed. "My Cas. They won't know if something got me or if I ditched them or what." I met Dean's eyes as I said it, and I knew he understood.

If Sam thought I'd ditched her, well, I said some things when we split up that I didn't like thinking about, and Sam...doesn't hold grudges exactly, but she _remembers_ everything. It was one of the reasons she and Dad fought so much—every little criticism stayed in her memory where she could obsess over it years later. What it boiled down to was I didn't want Sam to think I didn't trust her.

"Where you come from," Cas said suddenly. "You didn't stop Lucifer from rising." He said it like he hoped I'd contradict him, and I wanted to, but, well.

"He...yeah, no. Lilith and that douchebag Rudy conned us, with some help from Zach. And now Satan wants to get all up inside my baby sister, and I'm pretty sure it's part of my contract that I don't let that kind of crap happen, you know? I mean talk about inappropriate boyfriends." Sam slouched on the bed as I talked until he was folded practically double, looking miserable; Dean was watching me with the same kind of pissed off that I always got when I thought about this. "So Cas, my Cas, is trying to find God. He has my necklace." And sure enough, the angel's face shut down in just exactly the right way, and I had to remind myself that this wasn't my Castiel, and he wouldn't like it if I got up and kissed him till he felt better. I mean, I thought the God hunt was dumb, but it was important to Cas.

"I'm searching for God as well," he said, flat. He was trying to be a good little soldier. I saw Dean look at him, with concern flashing over his face, fast so Sam wouldn't catch it.

"OK," I said. "Sounds like things went a lot the same here as they did at home. Man, this is freaky. What was the last hunt you had?"

Dean shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and Sam suddenly looked less unhappy; on my Sam I'd have called the expression he adopted smug. "We played poker," he said.

Oh. So yeah, it was smug.

"Was yours Patrick too, or did you guys have a Patricia?"

"Ours was Patrick too," Dean said. "Damn leprechaun. We should've ganked him."

I actually only half agreed with that. "It's not like he was forcing anyone to play," I said. "Bobby's own fault for getting into it. And seriously, why'd he think being younger was gonna fix his legs?"

"Speaking of Bobby, we should probably get him in on this," Sam said.

I nodded and finished the last of my coffee. "This is totally gonna rock his world. It'll be awesome. Dude! We should tell him you got turned into a girl."

Sam looked like he was trying not to laugh, but he said, "I think he'll do better helping if we tell him what's actually going on."

"Well, we'd tell him eventually," I said. "I mean, just picture his face if I got out of the car."

"We are not telling Bobby I'm a girl," Dean said, trying not to let it show that he thought it was hilarious too.

"Oh come on, you know I could do it." I ducked my head, rubbed a hand over the back of my neck and lowered my voice a little. "Uh, so we ran into this witch. Think you can help me out?"

Sam made a strangled noise that, from my Sam, would have meant she was failing to not laugh; I glanced at him and sure enough he was choking even as he rolled his eyes at me. Dean, meanwhile, totally lost it.

He was actually even hotter when he was laughing. Made me wonder if it worked for me too.

When we all wound down I said, "So, is this Ohio? The Hulk thing?" I waved my hand around. "I mean this looks like the room I fell asleep in last night." The wallpaper had probably been eye-searing when it was new, but now the white flowers were gray and the yellow, blue and green had faded.

"Yeah, that one's just too weird," Dean said. "Of course now they're saying it was a bear attack."

"I don't understand that," Cas said suddenly, and the three of us turned to look at him. I hadn't forgotten he was there, exactly, but he'd looked like he was settling in to brood for a while.

"Don't under—" Dean and I began simultaneously; we looked at each other and I shrugged. Dean went on, "Don't understand what?"

"Why humans refuse to acknowledge what's there," Cas said. It was one of his many frustrated voices, this one _Humanity persists in not being as logical as I would like._ Dean and Sam and I swapped glances, and Sam and I both got out of it by communicating _Hey, he's your angel_. Dean looked a little pissed, and I didn't blame him; it was one of the things I'd never really gotten myself, so trying to explain it to Cas was gonna be entertaining.

"I dunno, dude," Dean said after a second. "People get taught that there's no such thing as ghosts and werewolves and whatever."

"Yes, but why?" Cas asked. "If they knew, they could protect themselves better."

Sam decided to help after all. He said, "But it's scary. Most people have enough to worry about with, I don't know, being mugged and whether or not they can pay the mortgage. They don't want to think about getting possessed too."

"Sometimes even the people we save don't believe us," I said. "They're like, OK, so I had a ghost in my house, but there's still no such thing as a changeling. Or whatever. It's kinda creepy." Cas still looked frustrated; I didn't blame him. It frustrated me too. We all thought it over for a second. I came up with my usual answer, which is "People are crazy".

"OK!" I said. "Hulk thing. We on that?"

"We were gonna go to the police station today," Sam said. "But, well, you're here."

"Yeah, but I can't exactly go to the cop shop with you. Dean and I look too much alike, even townies wouldn't buy us as partners, and it's not like I've got a suit that fits. I can do some looking from here on the laptop, and you can get Bobby in on it. I don't mean we ignore the whole different-universe thing, but the guy did get smashed."

Sam still looked a little iffy, but Dean seemed to think it was a good idea. Cas (Castiel, I should think of him as Castiel) didn't offer an opinion except to say that he would "conduct his own inquiries" and do the annoying disappearing thing.

So the guys put their suits on. I turned on the TV, because it was the right time of day. It was "Hearts Burn", the episode where P-squared were trying to cool off their relationship, but of course it wasn't working and they were making out pretty much any time they were behind closed doors. Even in the elevator. Dean came out of the bathroom all suited up, and sat next to me. I elbowed him in the ribs and he looked at me sideways. "Don't tell Sam," he said softly.

"Huh. Mine watches it with me."

"Are you gonna hit me if I say you can get away with it 'cause you're a girl?"

I shrugged and said, "Nah. Here, your tie's crooked." I fixed it for him, then we sat and watched in silence until Sam was dressed. He came out snugging his tie and asked, "What're you watching?"

"Hospital show," Dean said.

" _Dr. Sexy, MD_ ," I put in. "It's based on a book. Sam and I love it." Not strictly true; Sam thought it was kind of dumb, but she watched it with me anyway and in return I let her subject me to her depressing art films and way too much Joss Whedon.

Sam gave his brother a skeptical look and Dean stared back. "Are you ready?" he asked, and Sam said, "Are you?"

"We'll be back," Dean told me, and got up to snag his keys.

I remembered to ask Sam for the laptop password before they were out the door. It was the same one my Sam was currently using, which was just _creepy_. Even worse was listening to my car's engine come to life, because it wasn't my car; that was Dean's baby, not mine, even if I'd have bet a lot that his had Legos in the heat vents too (though possibly not the Herself the Elf figure stuck in the one backseat ashtray).

I tried to research, but I had no idea where to even start. There are some hunter resources on the Internet these days, if you know where to look and have the passwords, but it's not like "I woke up on the wrong side of the universe" is a _common_ problem, even for hunters. Even for me and Sam specifically, and we have frickin' angels to deal with. I ended up kind of just poking around, trying to figure out what was different; it turned out to be not a lot. That guy in San Francisco who'd been a werewolf was a chick here, and weirdly so was Gumby Guy—instead of Misha the yoga instructor, here it was Lisa. She was hot, too. I wondered if she had a kid. Misha'd been so great with Beth. The lost angel here had been Anna, not Andrew (but still redheaded).

I did not leave any posts on the Ghostfacers forum, even though I really wanted to. Apparently those guys being jerks was cross-universal. The ship captain on Sam's space cowboy show was a guy here (he was hot). There was a _Dr. Sexy_ ripoff called _Grey's Anatomy_. The covers of Chuck's stupid books made me about choke laughing when I dug up a couple images; sure, ours showed way too much skin but at least they got my _hair_ right. The painted version of Dean had hair like Fabio. The weird obsession with me and Sam having sex was present here too. (Seriously—I like guys, OK, and also she's my _sister_.)

About then I heard the Impala's engine. Dean pushed into the room with his arms full of takeout bags. "Hey," he said, and I nodded.

"So what's the word?" I asked, closing windows on the computer; wasn't like they'd been anything useful.

"Well, once we got her to say what she really saw…she says it was the Hulk," Dean said. "The TV Hulk. She was really specific about that."

"Lou Ferrigno?"

"Yep. Purple pants and all. I'm gonna want to look into the vic a little. Sam went to check out the house, he'll be back soon."

I started up a new web search. "His name still Bill Randolph?"

* * *

By the time Sam got back we had a couple of articles and some public records about Randolph, and they made an interesting picture. We both looked up as Sam came into the room, and he paused for just a second. "OK, you two are kind of scary," he said, and Dean and I looked at each other and shrugged.

"You find anything?" Dean asked.

"Well, I saw the house." Sam always backed into descriptions, and it was just as annoying when it was a male Sam.

"And?" I asked.

Sam sighed. "And there is a giant, eight-foot-wide hole where the front door used to be. Almost like…"

"A Hulk-sized hole," Dean said.

"Maybe. What d'you two have?"

"Well, it turns out that Bill Randolph had quite the temper," Dean said.

"Two counts of spousal battery, court-ordered anger management," I said. "You might say you wouldn't like him when he's angry." Dean grinned at me and we high-fived.

Sam rolled his eyes at us, but said, "So a hothead, getting killed by TV's greatest hothead. Kind of sounds like just desserts, doesn't it?"

Dean and I exchanged dubious looks, and Sam continued, "No, really. It's all starting to make sense."

"How is this making sense?" Dean asked.

"Well, I found something else at the crime scene," Sam said, and reached into his pocket. He drew out a crinkling handful and dropped it on the table. "Candy wrappers, lots of them."

"Just desserts, sweet tooth, screwing with people before you kill them…" Dean said, and I groaned and put a hand over my eyes as he went on, "We're dealing with the Trickster, aren't we?"

"Sure looks like it," Sam agreed. He peeled out of his suit jacket and started unbuttoning his dress shirt, and I made myself look away. I mean, the kid was _built_ , but ogling someone who was essentially my baby sister? _So_ many kinds of wrong.

"Good," Dean said. We both stopped to look at him. "I've wanted to gank that mother since the Mystery Spot."

"You sure?"

I stared at Sam, and Dean did the same. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said.

"No, I mean are you sure you want to kill him?"

Dean's eyebrows headed for his hairline and he said, "Not like he thought twice about icing _me_ a thousand times." I nodded. I mean, I didn't remember any of it—as far as I was concerned, we spent one night in Broward County and then Sam hauled me out like her hair was on fire and her ass was catching—but I saw what it did to her afterwards. She was just starting to get back to talking like a normal person when the hellhounds came, and catching that one Asia song on the radio would leave her twitchy and pissed off for hours.

"No, I know, I mean, I'm just saying— " Sam started, tripping over his words.

"What are you saying?" Dean said, a little testy. "If you don't want to kill him, then what?" The pronoun finally caught me and I thought _Him, huh?_ but it didn't seem like a good time to comment on interdimensional differences.

Sam laid his shirt on his bed and grabbed a tee from his bag. "Talk to him?" he said, muffled as he pulled the shirt over his face.

"What?" Dean and I said in unison.

Sam sounded painfully sincere when he answered. "Think about it, Dean. He's one of the most powerful creatures we've ever met. Maybe we can use him." I recognized the tone, even in this Sam's deeper voice. It was Sam's I Have A Plan voice, which had never failed to get me in trouble since the age of ten and the thing with the cornflakes.

"For what?" Dean asked.

"Okay, Trickster's like a Hugh Hefner type, right?" Dean nodded. "Wine, women, song—maybe he doesn't want the party to end. Maybe he hates this angels-and-demons stuff as much as we do. Maybe he'll help us." I had to admit, barring the whole gender-swap thing it sounded...not entirely crazy, but still.

"You're serious," Dean said, and Sam answered, "Yeah."

"Ally with the Trickster."

"Yeah."

Dean shook his head and said, "A bloody, violent monster, and you wanna be Facebook friends with him? Nice, Sammy." And that would be the "still". This was a chick—or apparently a guy—who killed people for, well, whatever he wanted. Even granting that most of my version's victims had at least half deserved it, sort of, I was having a hard time picturing Sam forgiving the Trickster.

"The world is gonna end, Dean. We don't have the luxury of a moral stand." Sam shrugged, looking tired. "Look, I'm just saying it's worth a shot. That's all. If it doesn't work, we'll kill him."

Dean sighed. I wasn't sure he was on board with the plan, and I knew I wasn't, entirely, but it wasn't really my call, not here. You don't horn in on someone else's hunt.

"How are we gonna find the guy, anyway?" Dean asked after a second.

"Well, he never takes just one victim, right? He'll show," Sam said.

"You guys got a police scanner?" I asked.

* * *

We sat around for a couple hours. Dean made stakes, peeling strips of wood off into the trash basket. Sam messed around on his laptop. I tried to watch TV, though I wasn't really tracking the plot or anything; mostly I wondered what Sam and Cas were doing. Were they trying to find me? Was there anything to find, even? Maybe there was a double of me and they didn't even know I was gone. Maybe a version of my body was there, but in a coma.

At one point Bobby called, to deliver the shocking news that he had no idea what might've caused me to switch universes—it took him longer to say it than that, but that's what he meant. No one was surprised. Then we went back to waiting, and nothing went back to happening. Sam shut down his computer and took to just sitting there, staring at the police scanner.

An hour or so before dark, the scanner crackled into life, but this time it wasn't routine "I'm on shift" stuff. The voice sounded youngish, and excited-slash-nervous. "Um, Dispatch? I…got a possible 187 out here at the old paper mill on Route 6?"

"Hey," Sam said. Dean paused in his carving to look over, and I muted the TV. 187 means a dead body and suspicion of foul play.

"Roger that," said the dispatcher's voice. "What are you looking at there, son?"

A brief pause, and then the cop said, "Honestly, Walt, I, I wouldn't even know how to describe what I'm seeing. Just—send everybody." We all looked at each other. It's a little harder with three people than two, but we managed.

Dispatch replied, "All right, stay calm, stay by your car. Help's on the way." Sam leaned over and turned the scanner off as Dean said, "That? Sounds weird."

"Weird enough to be our guy," said Sam, and I nodded.

"OK, let's load up," Dean said. I started to stand and then thought better of it; he raised an eyebrow at me and I shrugged.

"Sounds like the whole PD's gonna be there, and I still look like your twin sister," I said. "Leave me one of your cell phones and I'll stay here. You can call me if you need the extra backup." I hated staying out of the action, but we couldn't risk the cops getting suspicious.

"Doubt this town has a taxi service," Dean said. I grinned and shrugged again. "I'll sweet-talk the motel clerk if I have to." He snorted.

"We might be out all night," Sam said as he zipped a bag closed. "If they turn it into a circus, could take a while to get the place to ourselves."

"Yeah, but you know what to look for and they don't."

"True," Dean said. "OK, if it gets late you can take my bed." He pulled his phone out of his pocket and tossed it to me.

"Thanks," I said.

They were out the door a second later. I watched it close behind them, feeling frickin' useless. I always hated it when Dad left me behind, at least once I was big enough to be helpful, and it wasn't any better watching _myself_ go off. I mean, OK. He had Sam to watch his back, and this Sam had to be enough like my Sam that that wasn't a small thing. And this Sam had Dean, and I was damn sure he'd keep an eye on his little brother. It was just that more backup is never bad.

I paced for a few minutes, contemplating calling Cas to come and help me pass the time. Except the only Castiel I could reach wouldn't have any idea, which was seriously depressing—plus you don't move in on someone else's territory, and Castiel was totally Dean's territory no matter how much in denial Dean was. It wasn't like I could go out and pick up a guy, either, even if I'd wanted to, not when Dean and Sam might call me any second.

Damn it. I missed Cas. I missed Sam.

Eventually I rummaged through the laundry bag and found a roll of quarters right where I expected it. I shrugged into Dean's spare jacket, tucked cell phone and room key into my pocket, and headed to the laundromat I'd spotted two blocks away when Sam and I were on our way in.

Might as well get something useful done while I waited.

* * *

I watched my show by myself. Every time something cheesy happened—look, I like the show but I never claimed it was great TV—I caught myself glancing to the side to catch Sam rolling her eyes, and of course she wasn't there. When that was over I searched for something else to watch, but nothing grabbed me for more than a few seconds; I caught myself starting through the channels for the third time and turned it off in disgust.

I screwed around on the Internet until I couldn't stand it anymore, did pushups until my arms were trembling, took a shower I didn't really need, and wished desperately for them to _call me_ and tell me they'd found something. Finally it got late enough that I could justify going to bed.

I wore my own t-shirt, because sleeping in one of Dean's seemed a little weird. The cell phone sat on the nightstand, where it couldn't help but wake me if it rang, and I had a little bag packed with a couple of useful things that I could grab if I had to.

It actually didn't take that long to fall asleep; I was still kind of wrung out from the epic hangover, or maybe it was a side-effect of jumping universes; what the hell do I know about this stuff? And I slept soundly. These days the nightmares don't come every night anymore, which I am totally in favor of, and I got lucky.

But when I woke not long after dawn, they weren't back.

I called Sam's phone as soon as I was awake enough to register what time it was; it dropped straight to voicemail (even his voicemail message was word-for-word the same). I muttered curse words as I struggled into my jeans and reached for my boots, punching Castiel's speed-dial one-handed.

"Hello, Dean," he said when he picked up. His voice made me pause for a second, because it was the right voice, and the connection was bad enough I could pretend he'd said my whole name. I wondered where he was. Whenever I asked Cas, he always gave me answers I wasn't sure I could believe.

"It's me," I said, and I didn't think I was imagining that he sounded disappointed when he replied, "Dina. Is something wrong?" He _so_ had the hots for Dean.

"No. I mean, maybe? The guys went after a lead late yesterday afternoon and they aren't back yet, and I can't raise 'em on Sam's phone. I was gonna get dressed and go out there myself. The cops should be gone by now, one way or the other, so—"

The familiar sound of wings filled the room. He managed to appear in front of me for once, and I had to fight down a smile at the sight of him. Then I registered his expression, which wasn't the smiting face but right next door to it. "Where?" he demanded, dropping his phone away from his ear as if it was completely useless. I was pretty sure it ended up in a pocket, but I was busy with bootlaces.

"Lemme put my shoes on," I said. "I'm going with you." Castiel made the quiet noise that meant he was ticked but not arguing, and I tied my boots as fast as I could and grabbed my bag from its place. "OK. Abandoned papermill on Route 6, about three miles northwest."

Castiel put his fingers to my forehead and I braced myself. I really, really hate Angel Air. It feels like being stretched out to a thread by something pulling you through a little tiny hole. But at least it's fast; I blinked and we were outside a dilapidated industrial building. "Stay here," Castiel said grimly, and I was in the middle of saying _Cas, wait_ when he popped out again.

Damn angel.

I waited, figuring he'd gone to scout the place out. A minute crawled by, then two, then five. Castiel didn't come back. By ten minutes I was bouncing up and down on my toes, trying not to curse Castiel out loud. I did a little scouting of my own and found a door; it had a window in it, but the glass was too dirty to make out the interior of the building, and though it was latched I could tell the whole thing was hanging by a thread.

At fifteen minutes I said, "Fuck it."

I pulled my flashlight from the bag, checked the safety on the gun I'd packed and stuck it in my waistband, and yanked on the doorknob. Sure enough, the whole thing popped loose with hardly more than a sharp tug. I stepped inside.

Where I was suddenly confronted with my own face in a mirror. I looked around frantically. I was in a tiny, tiny bathroom, basically a closet with just enough room to stand in front of the toilet. There was a rumbling noise that sounded like an engine, and the floor wasn't steady under my feet.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door, and a female voice that was only pretending to be calm said, "Ma'am? Ma'am, you need to return to your seat."

"Oh, son of a _bitch_ ," I whispered.


	3. Chapter 3

I'm not ashamed to admit that I don't remember the next little while very well. I have a couple of really vivid moments, but that's all—glancing down at myself and realizing I was wearing a pencil skirt, blouse and jacket; passing a woman on the way back to what was apparently my seat and hearing her say "says planes want to be in the air"; buckling myself in, grabbing the armrest, and trying not to puke from sheer terror; the oxygen masks dropping. Then I was too busy freaking the fuck out to make any good memories, because we were falling, and then we hit, and something hit my head, and while it wasn't (for once) hard enough to really put me out it made me very, very confused and I'm not honestly sure how I got out of the damn plane. The next thing I remember clearly is standing on a beach, with the heels of my pumps sinking into the sand, with people all around me groaning and oh, hey, that one guy was bleeding out.

I let the pumps fall off my feet as I ran, and dropped to my knees beside the bleeding guy to put pressure on his wound. Something sharp had gone into him in the side, just under the short ribs, and come back out again, which was why he was bleeding like a frickin' fountain, and I had an uneasy feeling that it was placed right to have gotten the liver; which meant this guy was a goner, because there are all _sorts_ of great big blood vessels into and near the liver and I wasn't exactly seeing anything that looked like a trauma unit around. But he was still awake, poor bastard, so I smiled at him and said, "Hey, you holding up?"

The guy had a lively, mobile face that wasn't tight with the pain like it should have been; his eyes were an unusual light brown and he actually grinned back, though his head was tilted in a puzzled way that felt somehow familiar. "Somehow I don't think you're from around here," he said, a casual drawl that didn't match the warmth of his blood under my hands.

"Not really," I said, just to make him stop talking. "Think I took a wrong turn at Albuquerque, you know?" The blood was still coming. I took one hand off the wound and shrugged the arm out of my jacket as best I could, swapped hands to get the other arm free, and folded the jacket into a pad to press into him. It wasn't helping; the bleeding didn't slow. I was frankly amazed the guy was even conscious, much less alert; with a wound like this, he should've been around P on the AVPU. "I need you to not talk, OK? You've got some bleeding going here, don't want to make it worse."

"Oh, this is too _good_ ," he said, and snapped his fingers.

All around me, things went quiet. I looked up from the bleeding man's face to discover that everyone and everything else had frozen, people stopped in the middle of running, falling, speaking; the wind that had been blowing was still; the waves a few feet away stood motionless as if someone had hit the pause button on a videotape. He snapped again and the fabric under my hands was gone, and we were both standing. He didn't have a mark on him; his shirt and canvas jacket were clean and whole.

I may not be a genius, but I get things when they're staring me in the face. "You're the Trickster," I said. He looked up at me—he was a couple inches shorter—grinned, and made an elaborate, mocking bow. "I would say 'the one and only', but that's not actually true," he said. "But I'm the one and only in here—do you like it? All my own work, extras, costuming, everything. I can even do a soundtrack if we need one."

"Where are Sam and Dean?" I demanded, taking a step towards him. My hands were curling into fists. "Where's Cas?"

He chuckled and wagged his finger at me. "Now, now, sweetiepumpkin, there's no need to get all _aggressive_. Your pseudo-brothers are perfectly fine, and they will stay that way as long as they do what they're supposed to do and learn their lesson." The Trickster looked me up and down like he was deciding whether to buy me. "I must say you're a bit of a surprise, though. How'd you get here?"

"No clue," I said. "For all I know it's your fault." I had no weapons—no stake—and damn it I longed to wipe the smirk off his face; it was just as frickin' annoying as our Trickster's, though she was even shorter. And I had in fact noticed that he hadn't said anything about _Castiel_ being fine.

He barked laughter. "Oh, no, you being here is not me. Gotta say I wish I'd thought of it, though. How's ol' Deano dealing with you threatening his masculinity?"

"I'm...not?" I said. Why the hell would I threaten his masculinity? We weren't the same person.

"Huh," the Trickster said, and then made an oh-well kind of face and shrugged with his whole body. "Doesn't matter! You look like you're a pretty close analogue, which means _you_ need a lesson too. So I'll give you the same deal I gave the boys: play your role, live through this, and then we'll talk. OK? OK. Buh-bye!" I lunged for him but he vanished, in an effect like the distortion of an old TV picture when you snapped the set off. The scene around me came back to life. I ignored it, being way too busy calling the Trickster every bad name I could come up with. Eventually I sat down on the sand and watched the other people, who I assumed were constructs or illusions or whatever the Trickster made, running around dealing with the aftermath of the crash. A couple of times one or the other person tried to talk to me, and I didn't really respond much, because I was too busy freaking right the fuck out.

I'm afraid of flying—have I mentioned that? OK, no. I am _terrified_ of flying. I have now been on a plane three times, and none of them were any fun. Now, I'll grant you that the first time we didn't actually crash, and also I was busy dealing with a mid-air exorcism so I was a little distracted. The second time was iffy, but again, I had other things to think about, mostly the fact that my little sister had just sprung the Devil. The pilot had to do some dodging, and it was scary, but between the Lucifer thing and wondering what had happened to Cas I dealt OK till we got on the ground.

This time? The plane fucking crashed. Fell right out of the sky, just like I always know they're gonna. This one wasn't really a real plane, but that kind of didn't help at all. And OK, I didn't die, but it will be a cold day in Hell before I get on a plane again.

Also I was pretty sure that this whole thing was based on that one TV show, and I'd caught enough reruns to know that that wasn't going to be good once things really got going; that show had, like, trees that beat you to death and polar bears and stuff. And I didn't know exactly what the Trickster meant by "play your role", but I had to figure it was basically "act like the people on the show would act", and most of them were dumbasses, at least for the first season or so.

So I kind of sat there. After a while a guy came over and sat next to me. He was wearing the remains of a business suit, and there was blood drying on his hands; whether it was his or someone else's I couldn't tell.

"You should come over with the rest of us," he said, totally casual.

I nodded. Play along. I can do playing along.

"Are you hurt?"

"I hit my head during the crash, but I'm OK," I said.

"I'm a doctor. I can take a look at you if you want."

I turned my head and looked him over. "Not like there's much you can do if I have a brain bleed," I said.

He made a face, like he hadn't wanted to be reminded of that, and started to get to his feet, brushing the sand off like that was going to make any difference at all. I began to follow him, but halfway up I got hit by a wave of dizziness and the whole world titled to the left, then the right, and then everything went black—but I wasn't unconscious; it was more like my vision had cut out. I didn't have time to panic before reality came back, but it wasn't the same place. Instead of a beach surrounded by smoking wreckage, I was sitting in a sunny kitchen, across a table from a woman who looked just enough like Mom to make my breath catch. She smiled and said, "You were a little unclear on the phone about what you needed to talk about, sweetie," and I was opening my mouth to say I had no idea what she meant when I realized I did. It was weird as hell; I knew exactly what I was supposed to say like it was written on a paper in front of me. And that is all I'm going to say about it, because the bastard made me do a commercial for a yeast infection treatment.

It was only like a minute, so it could've been worse. At the end everything went black again; when my sight came back I was staring at a really pretty girl. She had dark hair and dark eyes and her hands were on my shoulders; she was looking into my face like she was worried.

"Alex, come on, we have to get out of here," she said urgently. "Come on! Can you run?"

"Yeah," I said, realizing that I once again felt like crap. It was starting to become a theme. "Yeah, I'm good." I was on the floor in an industrial-looking hallway, all concrete and ducts and wires on the ceiling, propped against a wall, with the girl crouching over me. "Gimme a hand up," I said.

She popped to her feet, grabbed my hand and yanked me up with suspicious ease. I am not exactly a small girl, and I was taller than this chick by a bit; I had the distinct feeling she was a lot stronger than she looked. But I didn't have time to think about it much, because her head snapped around to look down the hall and a second later I heard it too: feet, lots of them, coming fast. I had the feeling that letting those feet catch up with us would be bad; I watch a lot of TV and there was no part of this setup that could end well if we got cornered. So when the girl said, "Run," I didn't argue, just put my head down and followed her.

She ran faster than she should've, and I was able to keep up with her; at least if the Trickster wanted me to play a part here, he was giving me the resources to do it. We left the pounding feet behind pretty quick, though I felt shaky and sick the whole way. Finally we hit a door and the girl ducked through it; I followed and she pushed it shut, stabbed a key into the lock, and picked up a convenient brick to break the key off, which jammed the door pretty effectively.

"OK, that buys us a minute." She looked me over. "Are you OK? What'd they get you with?"

"No clue," I said. "I think I'm OK for now, but we should get out of here in case I keel over." I managed a grin, but from the look on her face it wasn't very convincing. "Don't want you to have to haul my ass out."

"I'll carry you if I have to," she said, dead serious. It was the kind of voice Sam uses when she wants to tell me I'm the most important thing, Dee, you know that, right? It was weird as hell getting it from someone else. Apparently hot chick was a good friend.

"Let's get moving so you don't," I said, and really hoped she couldn't see me squirming.

From there it would have been easy, except I kept having dizzy spells—at least, I thought they were dizzy spells, because my vision would get blurry and unsteady the way it does on TV when they want to show the POV of someone who's drunk or drugged or whatever. I kind of had to hand it to the Trickster, he was really pulling out all the stops on his chosen metaphor. Every time it happened I had to stop moving or risk falling on my face. Twice the girl had to haul me under cover while guys with guns went past us. But we made it to a door that led outside, finally.

I _have_ been happier in my life to breathe fresh air; I am after all the chick who had to dig out of her own goddamn grave, courtesy of an angel who saw nothing wrong with leaving me in my pine box, thank you Cas. But this air was particularly nice all the same, and seemed to cut through some of the fog in my head.

The girl said, "OK, one more big push and we're over the fence. You gonna make it, Alex?"

I grinned at her, only slightly better than the last time, and said, "Told you you weren't gonna have to carry me. Let's do this."

The fence was on the other side of about thirty yards of bare concrete that was lit with floodlights—except where we were; some of the lights were dead, which made our target section of chainlink a little dimmer than the rest. I was willing to take what I could get.

We walked. It was tough. Either running or sneaking would have been more likely to draw attention, but walking normally, as if we had every right to be there, went against my instincts like you wouldn't believe. We got to within about ten yards of the fence before someone shouted, and then we ran and leaped for the fence. I hit the chainlink hard and grabbed and started scrabbling up as fast as I could. There was barbed wire strung across the top of the fence but a glance up showed me that where we were it was cut. Behind us I heard more shouts, and then a shot.

The girl was going a little faster than me; she slung a leg over the fence as I got one hand on the top bar. "Alex!" she said, sitting there silhouetted against the sky in front of God and everybody, and I snarled, "Go, go!" She hesitated for just a second before flinging herself off, skidding down the fence in a barely-controlled fall, and landed with a huff as I hauled myself to the top bar. I got my legs over and started to lower myself to hang, trying to dig my toes into the fence for a hold. I had one foot secure when something punched me in the shoulder and my left arm stopped working. My other hand tore free and there was a moment of whirling disorientation before I landed hard on my back, all the breath driven out of me. By the time I could see straight, the girl was bending over me again. "Alex, Alex, no," she said unsteadily.

I had another one of those moments of knowing what I was supposed to say. "Run, Max," I said. She shook her head. Tears started to slip from her eyes. "You know they aren't gonna kill me. Give it a month or two, let 'em calm down, but right now you have to run."

"Damn it, _no._ " She bent to try and get me into a fireman's carry and I pushed her away with my good arm. The bullet wound was starting to hurt.

"OK, screw it, help me up," I said, and she nodded. The shouting was getting closer. It took more seconds than we had to spare to get me to my feet, and when I was up it was clear I wasn't running anywhere. I grabbed her by the front of her shirt and said, "Run right the hell now. I'll make it as hard for them as I can."

"Alex," she said, and I shook her. "This is no time for heroics, Max. You can get out and I can't, so _go_."

There was a dramatic moment of staring. I could practically hear the way the music that should have been playing paused, like holding its breath, before Max nodded, took a deep breath, and stepped back. "Just go," I said. She took two more steps back from me and then finally whirled and began to run. I laced my good hand into the chainlink and held myself up with it, and started staggering along the fence line away from the approaching voices. I got all of fifteen feet before someone yelled at me, a letter-and-number code, and then "Put your hands on your head!"

I turned slowly—because I couldn't manage any faster, not for dramatic effect—and pasted a smirk on my face. "Come on, guys," I said. "No need to get pushy." There were about ten of them with guns pointed, all in uniforms. I didn't recognize the insignia, though.

"Hands on your head!" one barked again. I shrugged, which was a bad, bad idea, and lifted my right hand to rest it on the top of my head.

"My other arm's fucked," I said cheerfully. They all blinked at me for a second, apparently because I said a bad word.

"On your knees," the spokesman said. I winked at him, trying to maintain the smirk against the throbbing of my shoulder.

"Kinky," I said. "All of you at once? I charge more for groups." I made it to my knees without pitching over onto my face, at least, and I was waiting for the next order when things went black again. I would've tensed up for whatever was next except I was too busy being relieved that my arm stopped hurting.

After that I kind of lost track of how much time was passing. I went through a couple more commercials (cleaning products guaranteed to remove blood stains, Biggerson's, Chevrolet), a soap opera, and one of those urban fantasy things where they get the monsters all wrong, but at least the guy in it was hot—he kept a ghost in a skull, which kind of threw me, but I was pretty sure I was supposed to be thrown so it worked out. It seemed like days, in chunks of thirty seconds or half an hour, though I never got particularly tired or had to pee. Occasionally I ate; I particularly remember a diner that was way nicer than any other diner I've ever been in, sitting across from another woman who looked like Mom, who wanted me to tell her all about the boy who had a crush on me—apparently his name was Dean, which startled me. At least the burger was good.

I spotted the Trickster once, across a bar in which I was the showoff bartender and one of my customers kept clumsily hitting on me. The asshole had the balls to wink at me over his drink, which I had not made; I disapprove of umbrellas, fruit, and any drink that's not a natural color. By the time I got out from behind the bar he was gone, and that one didn't last long after; I set a beer down in front of a guy with a flourish, and as I turned away things blacked out and I was somewhere else.

This somewhere else was dark, and kind of foggy, and there was a guy taking a swing at my face. I ducked it out of pure reflex, grabbed his hand and twisted the arm up behind his back. That was great till I had to let him go because he had a buddy, but I managed to shove them into each other and they went down, tangled together. I backed off, glancing around for more of them, and caught a look at a stick on the ground—shorter than the Trickster stakes Dean had made, but obviously used for the same purpose because it had a sharp point on one end. I dove for it and rolled back to my feet, stake in hand, just as the two guys sorted themselves out.

There was something really wrong with their faces, their irises yellow like cats' and their eyebrows drawn down till they kind of looked like the cavemen in one of my library books when I was a kid. And they had fangs, not extra rows of teeth but their canines were way too long and pointy and one of them hissed "Slayer" at me. I realized where I'd seen that look before just as I noticed that there were an awful lot of gravestones around.

Well, _crap_. At least I wasn't gonna have to figure out how to chop off their heads with a frickin' stick.

"Come on," I said. "Let's get this one over with." They rushed me together but with no finesse; I'm not exactly a fancy fighter but I had better moves then they did, and I was doing pretty well right up until the heel of my shoe (and seriously? Who the hell goes out to fight vampires in _heels_?) sank into ground that was looser than I'd realized and I went down, slamming hard into a tombstone that came out of nowhere. I was trying to get my act together when the first fake vamp grabbed me by the arm and yanked me up. I tried to wrench away but I still wasn't on my game and it got a hand in my hair—longer than it should've been, and this is why I keep telling Sammy that long hair is a problem. It yanked my head back to bare my throat. I was trying to brace myself when there was a weird poofing noise and the vampire snarled and shoved me away. I staggered and bumped up against the stone again. By then the vamp was fighting. Fighting someone about my height, with dark hair and a long tan coat.

I tried not to cheer, because I really didn't want to distract Castiel—not that he looked like he was having a hard time. The fake vampire was clearly weaker, clearly slower, and clearly totally outclassed, and Castiel's smiting face was an incredibly welcome sight.

I was just getting together the ambition to try and find my stake again when Castiel, who had apparently had enough of _this_ shit, grabbed the vamp by the throat and slammed his free hand into its forehead. Light flowed out around his fingers. The vampire made a horrible choking noise and fell into dust. Castiel turned to me. He wasn't even breathing hard. The vamp had gotten in one good hit; Castiel had a jagged line of broken skin across the bridge of his nose. He looked so damn sexy I could hardly believe it. I had to physically stop myself from going over and kissing the hell out of him.

"Dina," he said. "Are you hurt?"

_Not my Cas, not my Cas, not my Cas..._ "No. Shaken up a little, I'll be fine the next time the scene changes."

"I've been having difficulty locating Dean and Sam," Castiel said. He looked seriously pissed. "I can't travel reliably here, and it seems to get worse the closer I get to them. I thought you might be able to help."

I said doubtfully, "Um...OK. What do you need me to do?"

Instead of answering, Castiel stepped close to me, casually invading my personal space in the way I'd gotten used to because it was that or go nuts every time he did it. He raised his hand and I thought he was going to do the angel-fingers thing, but instead he shoved the shoulder of the light jacket I was wearing aside and settled his hand over the scar.

The thing is, I'm sure he had no idea, because he wasn't the Cas I'd been sleeping with for a couple of months now. He had no reason to expect it; my Cas and I had found out almost by accident. Castiel touched the scar, the handprint that his counterpart had left on me pulling me out of Hell, and it was like always—like a circuit had closed. We both shuddered. It wasn't pleasure, exactly, though Cas and I had found by testing it out that it could make either of us come if we were close already. It was just connection, being able to _feel_ each other. It was pretty frickin' weird, to be honest, but we'd both learned to roll with it. And apparently this Cas was close enough to my Cas that it still worked.

Castiel's eyes widened and he got perfectly still in that weird angel way. After a second he said, "Are you...doing that?" He sounded uncertain, which kind of threw me for a loop.

"No," I said a little too fast. "You are. Or...we both are? It's a thing."

He nodded, staring at me, and his voice sounded like a guy realizing the truth about life, the universe, and everything when he said, "You're physically intimate with the other Castiel."

"Yeah," I said, and couldn't think of anything else. Maybe now he'd get the hint about Dean?

Castiel stared for another few seconds and then seemed to shake himself. Because Castiel doesn't do hints. "It is not of import," he said, though I didn't think I was imagining a faint flush spreading over his cheeks. "I think I can find them now."

He took his hand away. I was ridiculously disappointed. "OK, let's go," I said, trying to hide how breathless I was—not that Castiel would really notice, but I do have a rep to maintain. He stared at me for a second, which at least was familiar, before he said, "You may have to hold on." But he didn't wait for me to respond before he reached for me.

It wasn't like the normal feeling of angelic transport, though I'm not sure I liked it any better; this traded the stretched-through-a-knothole feeling for vertigo like falling, and it lasted longer—several seconds, I think, not that I had any way of keeping track of time. When it stopped we were standing outside a door that looked a lot like the door to the motel room, except that everything around us was brighter; the sky was brilliant blue, the sun was shining, even the patch of grass I could see was so green it practically hurt my eyes. Castiel didn't pause to look around, though. He shoved the door open and marched through it; I trailed him, noting as I went that I was back in my own clothes.

As we entered the room, there was cheering and clapping. I looked to my left and saw rows of people, sitting on bleachers, watching the room. It looked like the motel room, all right, except that it was clearly a set; the wallpaper was violently turquoise and yellow and green and white, the floor gleamed, and it was totally missing one wall so the bleacher-people could see us. Dean and Sam were standing in the kitchenette part, next to a little table with a joke-huge sandwich on it.

"Cas!" Dean said. "Are you guys OK?"

"We don't have much time," Castiel replied. I didn't like the sound of that and from the looks of things neither did the other two.

"What happened?" Sam asked, waving a hand at Castiel's injuries.

"Dina was less well guarded," Castiel said. "There were some vampires. But listen—something is not right. This thing is much more powerful than it should be."

Dean asked, "The Trickster?"

"If it is a Trickster," Castiel said, and was just about to continue when suddenly he flew backwards, slammed hard into the wall next to the door, and crumpled. I took a step towards him but then the door sprang open and the Trickster himself leaped through it. The bleacher-people went crazy, shouting and clapping. "Hello!" the Trickster exclaimed. Castiel pushed himself up and turned, and I blinked at him for a second, because there was duct tape over his mouth. He was giving the Trickster a glare that should've cooked the guy on the spot.

"Hi, Castiel!" the Trickster exclaimed, and gestured. Castiel vanished in the same burst of static.

Sam's eyes narrowed and he said, "You know him?" Dean and I tried to talk over each other—I said, "Hey, bring him back!" and Dean demanded, "Where did you send him?"

"Relax, he'll live," the Trickster said with a shit-eating grin, and then he waggled his eyebrows and continued, "...maybe." The audience laughed. I turned to glare at them, which made them laugh more.

"All right, you know what?" Dean snapped. "I am _done_ with the monkey dance. We get it!"

I nodded, and even Sam, who seemed to be pondering something, appeared to agree. "Yeah, hotshot?" the Trickster said. "Tell me what you get."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Playing our roles. That's your game, right?"

The Trickster held up a finger and wagged it in the most annoying way possible. "That's half the game," he said.

"What's the other half?" Sam asked with patience that was obviously forced.

"Play your roles..." the Trickster waved his hand grandly "...out there."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I said, beating Dean to it by half a second.

The Trickster winked at me. "And the dark horse joins the conversation! I'll bet you know, though: Sam starring as Lucifer! Dean—and Dina—starring as Michael! Celebrity death match. In your case, honey, I'm hoping for Jello wrestling, but it doesn't matter as long as you play your roles." The bleacher people all went "oooooo" softly, as if he'd said something cool.

"You want us to say yes to those sons of bitches?" Sam said. He sounded really skeptical. The Trickster grinned at him and answered, "Hells _yeah_! Let's light this candle!" There was scattered applause from the audience.

As if he was talking to a little kid, Sam said, "If we do that, the world will end."

The Trickster said, "Yeah? And whose fault is that? Who popped Lucifer out of the box? Hm?" He looked back and forth between Sam and Dean meaningfully, and spared me a glance as well. "Look, it's started. _You_ started it. It can't be stopped," he said, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "So let's get it over with!"

"Seriously?" I muttered, and then out loud, "So, Heaven or Hell—which side're you on?" There had to be an angle he was working, something that we could use, and knowing which archangel he was rooting for would tell us where to start at least.

"I'm not on either side," he said, like he was above all that. I glanced at Dean and saw his skepticism in his face. "Yeah, right," he said. "You're grabbing ankle for one of 'em. Michael or Lucifer, which is it?"

Suddenly, and for the first time, the Trickster looked actually angry. "You listen to me, you arrogant dick," he said. The audience was totally silent, and when I glanced at them I realized they were all frozen; apparently he'd stopped paying attention to them. "I don't work for _either_ of those SOBs, believe me."

Dean smirked and tilted his head at me, and I nodded. "Yeah, no," I said. "You're somebody's bitch." The Trickster swung around, grabbed me by the collar and slammed me into the wall. It probably should have been scary, but I get slammed into walls a lot. "Don't you ever, ever presume to know what I am," he growled into my face, and OK, _that_ was kind of scary. "Now listen very closely. Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna suck it up, accept your responsibilities, and play the roles that destiny has chosen for you."

Sam asked, "And if we don't?"

The Trickster let me go, suddenly all smiles again, and said, "Then you'll stay here in TV Land. Forever. Three hundred channels...and nothing's on." He took a step back and snapped his fingers, and we were all somewhere else.

* * *

It was dark. We were standing on grass. There was crime scene tape stretched between trees, and on the other side of us was a dead guy. Cameras flashed every few seconds. I recognized the setup from channel-surfing.

"Crap," I said. "I hate these." I looked at Sam and Dean. They were wearing dark suits and identical blue shirts, and sunglasses. I checked; I had sunglasses too. Of _course_.

"Oh, come on!" Dean said, practically shouting, as a cop ducked under the police tape. "So, what do you think?" the cop said, and Dean looked him up and down in contempt. "What do I think?" he asked. "I think go screw yourself, that's what I think." I kind of agreed with him. There are about a million of the stupid forensics shows, you can't avoid them. I pulled my sunglasses off. It didn't help much with the lighting, but at least I didn't feel as dumb.

The cop looked a little surprised, and Sam said, "Uh, could you just give us a sec? It's, um, been a long night already. Thanks." The cop nodded and turned away. "You have to calm down," Sam said, and Dean groaned. "Calm down? I am wearing _sunglasses at night_." He yanked them off his face. "You know who does that? No-talent douchebags." Sam nodded, obviously trying to calm his brother down. Dean didn't look like he wanted to be calmed down any more than I did. "I hate this game," Dean continued. Sam looked at me for support and I shrugged, because as long as Dean was doing the rant I didn't frickin' have to. "I hate that we're in a procedural cop show and you wanna know why? Because I hate procedural cop shows. There's like three hundred of them on television and they're all the freaking same. It's like ooh, plane crashed here—oh shut up."

A word or two from the end of that, Sam seemed to lose the thread of what Dean was saying, and took his own sunglasses off to peer over the crime scene tape. "Hey," he said. I turned to look where he was looking and Dean, who'd just drawn a breath to keep ranting, paused and said, "What?"

I caught sight of it at the same time he did: the cop who'd come to talk to us had a lollipop stuck in his mouth. "Check out Sweet Tooth over there," Sam said, and Dean and I both nodded.

"Think that's him?" Dean said, and Sam and I shrugged.

"Just...follow my lead," Sam said, and slid his sunglasses back on. Dean and I went with him as he walked towards the tape. Someone picked it up to let us under. We marched over to the dead body in formation, Dean and I flanking Sam. When we got there, the cop looked up at Dean and asked cautiously, "You, uh, OK?"

"Yeah," Dean said, going down on one knee. The cop knelt next to him and said, "Well, aside from the ligature marks around his neck, he has what appears to be a roll of quarters jammed down his throat."

Dean pulled a flashlight from somewhere and leaned over to take a better look. Sam took his glasses off again and said, "Well, I say...jackpot." I looked at him with my eyebrows raised, because even for Sam that was kind of a lame joke, but the cop snorted and stood, brushing dirt from his knees. Sam put the sunglasses back on. "There's also a stab wound to the lower abdomen," the cop went on, gesturing at a blood stain on the corpse's shirt with his lollipop. I picked up a stick and poked at it, which I was pretty sure was not correct police procedure, but the cop didn't yell at me. "Well I say, no guts, no glory," Dean said. The cop actually laughed this time.

"Get that guy a Tums," Sam said, and then faded back a bit. He didn't have to signal us; I could tell that Dean had also noticed the same thing I had. He stood up too.

"Gutter ball," I said, to keep the cop's attention on me, and he laughed some more. "Good one, guys," he said, just as Dean, his own stick in hand, stepped in close and stabbed him in the chest. He went down, choking. No one paid any attention; the extras continued to go about their business. All of them except one, who stopped and morphed into the Trickster. "You've got the wrong guy, idiots," he said, and I smiled sweetly at him as Dean said, "Did we?"

The Trickster was opening his mouth to reply when Sam grabbed him and staked him from behind. His eyes went wide and he fell when Sam let him go, and the world dissolved into static.

* * *

We left the body. The papermill clearly hadn't been used in years, if not decades, and it didn't have any of the signs of being the place kids went to hang out and drink; we were unlikely to be leaving a nasty surprise for anyone, and we didn't want to risk setting the whole state on fire burning the place down. There was a second of confusion when Dean and I both headed for the driver's side of the Impala, but I backed off as soon as I realized. Sam let me take shotgun, which was nice of him.

The motel room had all four walls again, and didn't try to make my eyes bleed. I sat down on one of the beds, letting myself fall back, while Dean went into the bathroom. Sam puttered around the kitchenette. I kind of felt like we ought to be celebrating, except not; for one thing, we hadn't been able to raise Castiel. We'd discovered that his cell was off on the short drive back from the mill. I'd kind of been hoping he'd be in the room waiting for us, but no luck. "I'm worried," I said, loud enough that Dean could hear me over the water he was running. "What'd that SOB do to Cas?" Dean made an affirmative noise, and then said, "Yeah, seriously. If we're out, he should be too, so where is he?"

We both stopped, because it was time for Sam to weigh in—I was starting to get used to the way conversations between the three of us were just like me and Sam talking, only sometimes Dean said what I was going to say—but he didn't reply.

"Sam?" I said, pushing myself up again, and Dean echoed me. Dean came out of the bathroom, his toothbrush in his hand, and made a questioning face at me. I shrugged. Dean checked the kitchenette; I could tell Sam wasn't there.

"Did he go out?" Dean asked.

"Only if he was a ninja," I replied.

Dean pulled out his phone and called; from the look on his face he got Sam's voicemail right away. "Crap," I said. "Missing Cas, now Sam's gone too?"

"Yeah," Dean said. "Sam, it's me, where the hell did you go?" He snapped his phone shut. "Come on."

At the car this time I remembered to go for the passenger door. As we were getting in Dean said, "Back to the mill first."

And then Sam's voice, sounding a little filtered, like he was on the phone or something, said, "Dean?"

"Sam?" Dean and I said in unison. "Where are you?" Dean went on.

"Um...I don't know." That was when I noticed a red LED display on the dashboard—it sure as hell wasn't there on my baby, and from the look on Dean's face it wasn't supposed to be in his either, and it pulsed in time with Sam's words. I recognized it. "Oh, crap," Sam said. "I don't think we killed the Trickster."

Dean and I glanced at each other and sighed, "Son of a bitch."

After a second Dean said, "Fine," and turned the key.

"We should see if Sam can drive himself," I said.

"I'd kind of rather not," Sam said, sounding apologetic. "I think I might back into something. This feels really weird."

"Yeah, no backing into things," Dean said. He pulled out of the parking spot. "I'm still heading for the papermill." He turned onto the road, tapping his fingers on the wheel. "OK, the stake didn't work, so what is this? Another trick?"

"I don't know," Sam said. "Maybe the stake didn't work because it's not a trickster."

"What do you mean?" Dean asked.

"Well, you heard Cas. He said it was too powerful to be a trickster."

"Point," I said. "Plus, I mean, the way he looked at Cas? It was like he knew him."

"And he got seriously pissed when you brought up Michael and Lucifer."

"Oh, son of a bitch," I said, and looked over at Dean. He'd gotten it too, I could tell.

"What?" asked Sam.

"I think I know what we're dealing with," Dean said, and I nodded. It made sense; no one pisses you off like family.

"Find somewhere to pull over," I said.

* * *

We found a sign for a wilderness area a few minutes later, with a wide enough turn-off; Dean pulled in. "Do you have any?" I said, and Dean grinned at me.

"Sure we do," he said. "This is TV—we have exactly what we need, right? Lemme pop the trunk." Sure enough the jar was back there. Looked just like the one Cas had brought before Raphael. Dean handed it to me and I drew the circle; Dean kept poking in the trunk even after I put the jar back until Sam said, "Dude. That's really uncomfortable." Dean slammed the lid shut and Sam said _ow_ and then, "You sure this is gonna work?" Dean looked at the car, Sam, and then at me, and said, "No. But it's not like I have any other ideas. So." He came over to stand next to me and raised an eyebrow; I shrugged and made a little "Be my guest" wave with my hand. Dean tipped his head back and shouted at the shy, "All right, you son of a bitch, uncle! We'll do it!"

Nothing happened. Sam said tentatively, "Should I honk?" I glanced at him, and apparently the Trickster chose that moment to appear because he said, "Wow! Sam, get a load of the rims on you."

"Eat me," Sam said, with a pouty tone he wasn't totally faking.

The Trickster grinned at him and said, "OK! Gentlemen, lady...Winchesters. Are you ready to go quietly?"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," Dean protested. "Nobody's going anywhere until Sam has opposeable thumbs."

"What's the difference?" the Trickster asked. "Satan's going to ride his ass one way or another." Dean and I glared at him. So it wasn't my Sam; I still didn't want him to be the Impala. The Trickster rolled his eyes and I heard the car door open; a second later Sam came up behind me and Dean, standing at his brother's shoulder. "Happy now?" the Trickster asked.

"So settle a bet for us," I said. "Why didn't the stake kill you?"

He looked me up and down and wiggled his eyebrows at me. "Where'd you put your money, little lady? I'll go with that one, if there's something in it for me."

"In your dreams," I said.

He made a disappointed face that was too exaggerated to be anything but fake. "In that case, all I'm gonna say is that I am the Trickster."

"Or maybe you're not," Dean said. While the Trickster was looking at him, Sam pulled a lighter out of his pocket, flicked it into flame, and dropped it onto the circle of holy oil I'd drawn. "Maybe," said Dean, "you've always been an angel."

The Trickster, who needed another name, let out a bark of laughter that didn't convince any of us. "A what? Somebody slip a mickey in your power shake, kid?"

"Hey, it could be our mistake," I said. Dean nodded and clapped me on the shoulder.

"Girl-me's right. Just jump out of the holy fire and you can laugh at us all you want."

The Trickster did, loud, for about three seconds, and then he cut off and snapped his fingers. There was another burst of static, and we were in the papermill again. The Trickster did a slow clap. "Well played," he said. " _Well_ -played. Where'd you get the holy oil?"

"Well, you might say we pulled it out of Sam's ass," Dean said. Sam shifted a little uncomfortably, and I didn't smile but I wanted to.

"I gotta know—where'd I screw up?"

"You didn't," Sam said, and shrugged. "It's just, no one gets the jump on Cas like you did." Which was true, but what had done it for me was...

"Mostly? It was the way you talked about Armageddon," Dean said. Which was precisely it.

"Meaning?" the Trickster asked.

"In my—our—experience," I said, gesturing at Dean, "no one gets that angry unless they're talking about family." The Trickster bared his teeth and clicked his tongue, and I didn't need to look to know Dean was smirking at him too.

"So which one are you?" Sam asked, deceptively casual. "Grumpy, Sneezy, or Douchey?" The kid was pissed, but keeping a handle on it.

The Trickster didn't answer for a second, but as I was drawing a breath to ask again he said, "Gabriel, OK? They call me Gabriel." And the three of us just stopped for a second.

Sam recovered first. "Gabriel," he repeated. "The archangel?"

"Guilty," he said, with a smirk that didn't come near his usual standard.

Dean and I looked at each other and I shrugged. Really, it was his universe, and his archangel to deal with. "OK, fine," Dean said. "How does an archangel become a trickster?"

"It's my own private witness protection," Gabriel said. "I skipped out of heaven, had a face transplant, carved out my own little corner of the world. Till you two screwed it all up." Sam and Dean got identical expressions of guilt for a second, which I could kind of sympathize with, though it's not like Sam knew what he was doing—at least, not if things went the same way here. He got conned, and there wouldn't have been any final seal for him to break if I, or Dean, hadn't started the whole thing.

"What did Daddy say, when you ran off and joined the pagans?" Dean asked, sounding no more than mildly curious. As if he wasn't desperate for any lead, no matter how thin, that he could pass on to Castiel.

"Daddy hasn't said anything about anything in longer than you can comprehend, buster," Gabriel said. He sounded like he was trying for bored, but I thought I could hear some wistful in there. Maybe sad, even.

"Then what happened? Why'd you ditch?" Sam asked. He'd heard it too; I could see it in the way he tilted his head. He was filing it away in his giant brain as possibly useful leverage.

Dean snorted. "Yeah, can you blame him? I mean, his brothers are heavyweight douchenozzles." I nodded in agreement, but Gabriel looked seriously pissed.

"You shut your cakehole," he snarled. "You don't know _anything_ about my family. I love my father, my brothers. Love them. But watching them turn on each other? Tear at each other's throats? I couldn't bear it!" He sounded miserable enough at that that I actually believed him. "So I left. And now it's happening all over again."

"Then help us!" Sam exclaimed. "Help us stop it."

"It can't _be_ stopped," Gabriel said, frustration in every line of his body.

"What, you _want_ to see the end of the world?" Dean demanded.

"I want it to be _over!_ I have to sit back and watch my own brothers kill each other thanks to you two! Heaven, hell, I don't care who wins, I just want it to be over."

"It doesn't have to be like that." Sam sounded painfully sincere. I could just imagine my Sam, making the same argument, trying to sway someone who'd already given up. "There has to be some way to, to pull the plug."

Gabriel laughed, but there wasn't any amusement in the sound. "You do not know my family. What you guys call the apocalypse, I used to call Sunday dinner," he said. "That's why there's no stopping this—because this isn't about a war. It's about two brothers that loved each other and betrayed each other. You'd think you'd be able to relate."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked, cautiously. I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer, because I sort of felt like I already knew it.

"You sorry sons of bitches. Why do you think you two are the vessels?" Gabriel said—he clearly wasn't really asking, just trying to make a point. "Think about it. Michael, the big brother, loyal to an absent father, and Lucifer, the little brother, rebellious of Daddy's plan. You were born to this, boys." His gaze landed on me for a second, but he didn't say anything before focusing back on Dean and Sam. "It's your destiny! It was always you! As it is in heaven, so it must be on earth. One brother has to kill the other."

Well that sounded final.

"What the hell are you saying?" Dean asked, as if he didn't already know just as well as I did.

Gabriel rolled his eyes so hard they might've rolled right out of his head if he didn't have angel power. "Why do you think I've always taken such an interest in you? Because from the moment Dad flipped on the lights around here, we knew it was all gonna end with you. Always."

No one said anything for a long time. Dean and Sam looked at each other, and I missed my sister with a sharp stab that was practically physical.

"No," Dean said finally, looking back at Gabriel. "That's not gonna happen." I nodded, carefully ignoring the sound of uncertainty in his voice. I thought Sam might have missed it, even, but I knew Dean's voice as well as my own—hell, it essentially was my own. He was worried, just as worried as I suddenly was; if this plan had been in the making for so long, why did we think we were gonna be able to put a spoke in the works?

"I'm sorry, but it is," Gabriel said, and again I was pretty sure he really meant it, which was weird coming from someone who'd never been anything but lies and tricks and misdirection. He sighed and said, "Guys. I wish this were a TV show. Easy answers, endings wrapped up in a bow...but this is real, and it's gonna end bloody for all of us. That's just how it's gotta be." He looked at all of us, even me, and when no one said anything he crossed his arms and asked, "So...now what? We stare at each other for the rest of eternity?"

"First thing is, you're gonna bring Cas back from wherever you stashed him," Dean said.

Gabriel titled his head, and now I recognized it—that was Cas's head-tilt. Apparently it was an angel thing. "Oh _am_ I?"

"Yeah," said Sam, and Dean shrugged. "That or we can dunk you in some holy oil and deep-fry ourselves an archangel."

Gabriel didn't look particularly scared, but he snapped his fingers and Castiel appeared. He looked none the worse for wear, even the cut from the vampire gone.

"Cas! You OK?" Dean asked.

"I'm fine," Castiel replied. "Hello, Gabriel."

"Hey, bro," Gabriel said, all fake good humor. "How's the search for Daddy going? Oh, don't tell me, let me guess: awful."

Castiel said nothing, but his eyes narrowed.

"OK, we're out of here," Dean said, but something had occurred to me.

"Just a sec," I said, as he and Sam headed for the door. "Gabriel. You feathery types do the timeline thing. Can you send me home?"

"Why the hell would I?" he asked.

"Because I can't say yes to my Michael if I'm not there," I said, trying to sound reasonable. "I'll bet the other version of you is having tantrums that she can't find me."

"You have a point, but the thing is there's not much I can do," Gabriel said. He actually sounded a little apologetic. "I mean, I can shove you into the next universe over if you really want, but there's no guarantee it'll be the one you started from. There's no...trail that I can follow from here."

I glanced at Castiel, who thought it over for a second and then said, "It's certainly true for me, and it doesn't surprise me it's the same even for him."

"Crap," I said, and Gabriel shrugged.

"Someone from your neck of the woods can follow you here. If they're planning to get you back at all." He smirked.

"Yeah," I said, and turned my back on him. Castiel fell in beside me. "Uh, OK. Guys?" Gabriel said. We kept walking. "So...what? Hang on a second! You're just gonna leave me here forever?"

From the door, Dean said, "No. We're not, 'cause we don't screw with people the way you do. And for the record? This isn't about some prize fight between your brothers or some destiny that can't be stopped. This is about you being too afraid to stand up to your family."

Gabriel said nothing as Dean broke the glass over the fire alarm and pulled it. There wasn't any bell, but the sprinklers burst and began to pour stagnant-smelling water. I ducked out the door before I could get more than a drop or two on me.

Castiel hung back a bit. I figured he was watching Gabriel. I didn't want to bug him; Gabriel had been playing around as the Trickster for a really long time, so it had to have been a while since they'd seen each other. On the other hand we maybe wanted to get away before he could bust out of the fire ring, so I gave Castiel a few seconds and then pulled on his arm. He came reluctantly, but without looking back.

"You think it was the truth?" Dean asked as Castiel and I approached the Impala.

"I think he believes it," Sam said. They both glanced at me and I shrugged. It might've been bullshit; Gabriel was nothing if not a good liar. But what he'd said had sounded just a little too raw to be completely crap.

Dean grimaced and said, "Great. So what do we do?" He pulled out his keys and fidgeted with them, a nervous habit I'd never managed to train myself out of.

"I don't know," Sam said.

"Tell you what," I said. "Right about now? I kind of wish I was back in a TV show."

"Yeah, me too," Sam replied.

We were all quiet as we got into the car—including Castiel, which I found a little surprising. I'd have expected him to go fluttering off to look for God some more, to prove Gabriel wrong if nothing else; Cas can be kind of stubborn that way. Once we got out onto the road, I said, "So it looks like I'm stuck here." I tried not to sound really unhappy about that, but even I could tell I wasn't fooling anyone.

Sam turned in his seat so he could see me and Castiel in the back. "Gabriel said someone from your universe could follow you here."

"If anybody cares," I said glumly. "I'm pretty sure if Cas could find me he'd've been here already, and who else is there?"

"Michael will want to find you," Castiel said. "He'll send Zachariah."

"I dunno about that," I said. "It works for Zach. If Sam thinks I ditched her, how long's it gonna take before..." I hate it when I realize halfway through a sentence that I don't want to finish it.

"Before what?" Sam asked evenly.

"You know what," I said. Sam shrugged. "We're OK, me and Sam, but if I just vanished? We might not be OK anymore, and Zach would think that was just peachy, because if I get back and Sam's Lucifer, what choice am I gonna have? I mean, I saw how that one goes."

Dean winced and said, "So we just have to figure out how to get you back."

"If Gabriel can't do it," Sam started, but Dean overrode him.

"Gabriel said angels from here can't do it. Maybe what we need is a way to tell her Cas where she is, make a trail he can follow."

We all thought that over for a second, and then Castiel said, "That might be possible. This is hardly an area in which I have much expertise, but there are many ways of contacting other members of the Host. If Dina's universe is such a close analogue, I might be able to...improvise something."

"OK, so that's the plan," Dean said. "What do you need for this?"

Castiel sounded a little testy when he replied, and it was kind of funny hearing that tone aimed at someone who wasn't me. "I don't know for certain yet, Dean. I'm planning to invent a method of inter-universal communication. It may take some thought." Sam snorted, the bitch.

"Well, tell us what you'd need for the thing you're gonna modify," Dean said. "We can at least help you get stuff together."

"I don't think that will be necessary," Castiel said. I was a little disappointed, and I could tell Dean was too, but then Castiel went on, "The spells I could modify don't have much in the way of material components. You probably already have most of it."

About then we made it back to the motel. The door responded to Dean's key, which was good because it occurred to me that we didn't have any idea of how long we'd been gone. Their stuff was still there, too. Sam went over to the office to see how much they owed, which left me and Dean and Castiel to stand around feeling awkward.

I wasn't actually sure why we were feeling awkward.

"So...what do you need for this?" Dean asked, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"I need time to think," Castiel said.

I said, "Well, sit down or something at least."

"I don't need—" Castiel said, but then he saw how Dean and I were looking at him. "I'll just sit over here," he said, and took one of the kitchenette chairs. Dean and I exchanged looks and left him alone.

We both looked at the TV and by silent agreement didn't turn it on. Instead we sat there, and I couldn't think of anything to say, but that didn't matter so much when it was just me and Dean; I was pretty sure he was thinking mostly the same things I was—which was weird, but not in the bad way. After a few minutes Sam came back with the news that they were only a day over and he'd taken care of it. He and Dean talked over other leads for a little while, but their planning was constrained by what exactly to do with me; I was just about to propose busting out the cards for poker when Castiel said, "All right, I think I have it."

I wasn't sure which of us perked up faster, me or Dean, but I managed to let him be the one to say, "Great! What do you need?"

"Chalk," Castiel said. "Oil of Abramelin, if you have it. A silver plate. The spell is fairly simple."

They had the chalk and oil (in the same little bottle Sam and I kept it in), but the biggest piece of silver around was a knife blade so Cas went and got something that would work. He spent minutes carefully drawing a complex diagram on the kitchenette table, round with a nine-pointed star and squiggles all over it. Then he took his silver plate and sketched on it with the oil, and set it in the center of his drawing.

"Dina, come over here," he said.

"Uh, sure," I said, standing up. "What for?"

"You're the only thing we have that's from the other universe," Castiel said. "I need to use you for…targeting."

As I crossed to him I said, "All righty. What's this gonna do?"

"Once the spell is completed, the image of the other Castiel should appear in the mirror," he said. "You should touch it. Don't disturb the oil."

I nodded and stretched my fingers out on the surface of the plate, careful not to touch any of his sigils, and he nodded. "That will do." Then he lifted his hand, and I actually saw him hesitate—I could tell Dean saw it too and his eyebrows went up. I shrugged my t-shirt down my left shoulder a bit; the eyebrows got higher, but I said, "Come on, Cas, let's get this done." Castiel waited another second before he slipped his hand under the neck of my shirt to rest over the handprint. This time we were both expecting the shock of the connection, but Castiel stared at me as he chanted, words in a language I didn't know, and it made me shiver.

I could feel the spell spiraling out from us, searching through something huge that I couldn't really even pretend I understood. And I felt it when it found its target, because suddenly Castiel's eyes changed—they were still Jimmy Novak's blue, but there was something else in them that I hadn't even realized was missing.

"Cas?" I said.

For a second he didn't answer, but when he did I knew for sure.

"Dina," he said, and it was really _Cas_ , my Cas; I could _see_ it and I had no idea how I'd ever mistaken this world's Castiel for him. " _Are you all right?_ " he demanded, and without waiting for an answer his free hand came up to grab my arm. "Tell me where you are!"

"Um…I don't know how," I said. "I just…well, look over there." I jerked my head in the direction of Sam and Dean, who were watching all this with undisguised curiosity.

Cas turned to look at them and didn't _quite_ do a doubletake—I suspected the day he did would really be the end of the world, but it was darn close. "Who are they?" he asked, cautiously, and I smiled at him even though he wasn't looking at me. "That's Dean and Sam Winchester," I said. "They live here."

"You're in another universe," Cas said, like he suddenly understood.

"Yeah. The, um, you from here cast a spell. He said you were gonna appear in the mirror? Guess he changed it a little more than he thought." Cas nodded, and I continued, "So...can you get me home? I mean, from here? Or do you need to get back first and then..." I really didn't like the expression on his face, which got blanker and blanker as I talked. "You can't, can you?"

"No," Cas said. I tried not to flinch. "But I will find someone who can, Dina. I promise."

"Gabriel!" Sam said suddenly. We all looked at him. "The Trickster-maybe he's still somewhere around? He was here."

"A Trickster wouldn't be able to—" Cas started.

"No, Sam's right," I said. "She's not just the Trickster, Cas, that's the thing. She's Gabriel. Like, your sister Gabriel." Cas blinked at me, so shocked it showed on his face. "She'll want me back—can't have the big showdown without both the fighters, so if you tell her where I am she'll come and get me." I desperately hoped she wouldn't try to make me and Sam do TV Land. I was honestly not sure I could take another yeast infection conversation. Cas nodded slowly. He was obviously having some trouble taking it on board that his long-lost sister was found. And also he looked, I don't know, disappointed. "Hey, it's all good," I said. "You got me the first time, it's OK to farm it out for once." His expression was leaning dangerously close to _My dad's a dick and I can't find him_ , and that was way too much of that, so I leaned forward and kissed him, and the fact that he didn't stop me told me a hell of a lot about his state of mind. Usually he tried not to let anyone else see us being couple-y, even Sam, for reasons I was pretty sure boiled down to "Angels don't do that kind of thing."

Once we got started I didn't really want to stop. It wasn't just that it had been days, either, though I am not the kind of chick who's perfectly happy to get it on once a month; I had had a few moments in there where it had seemed like I was never gonna see him again, and that kind of thing is scary. I was probably gonna hug Sam when I saw her, too.

It was great, kissing Cas, and that was what ended up being the problem. I've found most of Cas's erogenous zones, and one of the things he likes is having my hands in his hair, and I totally forgot that I had to be touching the silver plate; the instant my fingers lost contact I felt the spell snap, and Castiel went rigid. I backed off as fast as I could and tried not to breathe too loud.

It was tough. Cas is a pretty good kisser.

After a second Sam made a noise that I recognized: it was the noise that meant some puzzle had just been cleared up. I deliberately didn't look at him, or Dean. "Sorry," I told Castiel. He just stared at me. "So...did you see Sam? I mean, my Sam, is she OK?"

"I saw her," he said, after only a second too long. "She was very worried about you." He was drawing breath to go on when Dean said, "So you and Cas, huh?"

I turned to look at him. He looked like he was trying really hard to work himself up to being pissed and wasn't quite making it. I thought it over, fast, and then I smiled at him. My best smile, the one that could start bar fights at twenty paces.

So maybe it was a _little_ weird, but it worked—Dean was a guy and I am not exactly hard on the eyes.

"Yeah," I said, letting my voice drop a little. "Me and Cas. Hey, Sam."

Sam's eyebrows had basically vanished into his hairline, but he sounded perfectly calm when he said, "Yeah?"

"Why don't you go get another room?"

Sam grinned at me. "That sounds like a great idea," he said cheerfully, and shoved his hands into his pockets. He made it most of the way to the door before Dean unfroze enough to say, "Wait, what? Sam—"

Sam paused with his hand on the doorknob and threw a casual glance back over his shoulder. "I think it's about time, actually. Have fun," he said, and then he was out the door and closing it neatly behind him.

Then I was alone with Castiel and Dean and this time I knew why it was awkward. Or Dean was awkward; I was pretty sure I knew where we were going and Castiel was just confused. I took a long step and grabbed him by the sleeve. He resisted being towed in Dean's direction for about half a second, but then he let me lead him. I crowded us both into Dean's space, just a little, still smiling. He was looking at me like he wanted to go for his gun, but I could see the faintest glint of something else in his eyes.

"The night before Raphael, I told Cas I wasn't gonna let him die a virgin," I said, casually. Dean swallowed. "It was easy for me, though. What'd you do?"

"He took me to a den of iniquity," Castiel said. Translated from Cas to English, that came out "whorehouse", which was kind of hilarious.

I looked at Dean, and he shrugged. "He couldn't seal the deal, though," he said. "Look, I'm not sure—"

"Dean," I said. I was pretty sure it was the first time either of us had called the other by name, and we both paused for a second. "Dean, it's the fucking apocalypse, OK? I can personally guarantee you he's not gonna burst into flames because someone touched him below the belt. And I'm pretty sure touching another guy won't kill you, unless you came up with a better idea than I did that time Sam outgrew four pairs of shoes in three months." I'd had two hundred bucks to last me till Dad got back and no particular idea when that would be, and that was after the fight with Bobby. And Dean was a guy, but so are most of the people who hire hookers.

Dean swallowed again.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. So, just to make sure: I'm on board. Castiel, how about you?"

Castiel didn't say anything, but he nodded, staring at Dean. I was sure he didn't realize how open his longing was. "Great," I said. "You, Dean?"

There was a long pause, long enough that I would've started to get nervous if I hadn't been able to read every line of his body.

Then Dean said, "Yeah, OK." He reached out and put his hand on the lapel of Castiel's coat, and pushed it back, and I smiled.

* * *

I snapped awake. The room was quiet, except for two sets of steady breathing. It sounded like they were both asleep, which was freaky, because Cas didn't sleep; any time I managed to persuade him to stay the night I'd wake up to find him watching me (and had given up trying to stop him from doing it). I cracked one eye, but there was nothing in my range of vision.

"I know you're awake," someone said, a familiar voice, mocking.

I sat up, not bothering to clutch the sheet to my chest. "Hey, Gabriel," I said evenly. Dean and Castiel slept on, the angel draped over Dean like a blanket. I couldn't see their faces, but Dean had one arm firmly wrapped around Castiel's shoulders.

The archangel's smirk twisted a little but didn't fade entirely. "I gotta say, I'm amazed," she said, and dropped onto the other bed, pulling the wrapper from a lollipop as she did. "You and Deano here, should I call you the Wonder Twins? And Sammy-boy. Who'd have thought you three would have enough functioning neurons to figure it out?" She pushed a hand through her hair—the Trickster's hair was a few shades lighter than the Gabriel who belonged here, though her eyes were the same honey brown. She wasn't pretty, but her face was mobile and hard to look away from, just like the male version.

"Cas gave us the clue," I said. I didn't keep my voice down; I doubted anything was going to be waking the other two up before Gabriel was good and ready.

"Yeah, he's a smart kid," she said. "And I got sloppy. Been a while since I had to account for other angels, I guess. But hey—three points for corrupting him _again._ " She leered. It was just as annoying as when the guy Gabriel did it.

"Did you do this to me?" I asked. I could feel angry, sloshing around under my skin, ready to explode if she said yes, but she laughed.

"Oh, no way," she said. "No big dance if Mikey's tux is at the cleaners, Deedee. It was Zachariah. Figured big bro'd have a better chance working on Sammy if you were out of the way, and you know how much he loves playing with timelines. He just picked a close analogue and shoved you into it—no finesse, didn't even check what would happen if he left you here too long." I decided I was not going to ask. "He was gonna keep you stashed till Sam said yes and then pull you back and let you deal." She rolled her eyes. "Because, you know, that was gonna work. Sam's been going abso-freaking-lutely nuts trying to figure out where you went, she doesn't have time for Lucy-baby."

"Zachariah's a douche," I said automatically. Gabriel grinned at me.

"Normally I'd smite you a little for insulting one of my brothers, just on principle, but Zachariah's a douche, sooooo..."

"Are you gonna take me home?" I asked. I didn't mean it to come out as quiet as it did.

"Actually, I am," Gabriel said. "So, you know, grab your stuff, because this train is leaving."

I slid out of bed, away from Castiel's solid warmth, and was kind of disappointed when he didn't even stir. It only took a second to gather all my clothes, and a few more to pull them on. Gabriel raised her hand and I said, "Wait. Wait just a second, I'm just gonna..." I pounced on Dean's bag and pulled a spiral notebook out of the side pocket. There was even a pen tucked through the wire coil.

_Gabriel's here to take me home,_ I wrote. _Take care of Cas and Sam._ I tore the page out and stuck it into the pocket of Dean's jacket.

"OK," I said, and Gabriel snapped her fingers.


	4. Coda: Swan Song

"Are you going to tell him?" Sam asked.

I glanced in the rearview at Cas, asleep in the back seat, and said, "Tell him what?"

Even with my eyes on the road I could tell how Sam was looking at me. "For that matter, were you going to tell _me_?"

"Sam," I started, but she overrode me.

"Dee, come on. Even when you were a teenager we could practically set our watches by you, and you're expecting me to believe you're two and a half months late and puking every morning for no reason?"

"I haven't taken a test or anything," I said. Sam snorted, and she had a point; I didn't need to pee on a stick to know. "And you know, angel. He only hit bottom a few days ago, maybe he knows already." I twisted my hands on the wheel. "The first month, it should've been right after Famine, I didn't even notice. And since then...I don't know, I guess I figured I didn't need to worry about it till we saw if the world ended." I could see her taking a breath and said, "Don't even tell me I should stay away, Sam. Don't even try. If this goes bad it won't matter where I am and you know it. The Devil doesn't give a rat's ass about pregnant chicks."

"Yeah, OK," Sam said, and was quiet for a minute. But when she spoke she sounded thoughtful. "You know if I do this, if I jump Lucifer into the box, I'm not coming back."

"I'm aware," I said, short. Like letting her do this wasn't breaking every promise I'd ever made her.

"So I need you to promise me something."

I glanced at her. Sometimes she knows what I'm thinking as well as I do, and it's creepy. "Anything, Sammy."

"You have to promise," she said slowly. "Promise not to try to bring me back."

I wanted to stop the car right there in the middle of the highway so I could scream at her, but instead I said, "No. Sam, no, I didn't sign up for this."

"Dee—"

"Your Hell is going to make my tour look like Disneyland, and you want me to just leave you? No."

Sam can sound so earnest, it hurts to listen to it. "Once the Cage is shut...Dee, it's too dangerous to go poking at it."

"No," I said, like repetition ever did anything to change her mind when she was in this kind of mood. "No, no, no. I am not going to let you rot in there."

"Yes you are," she said, gently. "You don't have a choice."

"You can't ask me to do this," I said. I stared at the road so I wouldn't have to watch her.

"I'm sorry, Dee. You have to."

I tried to make my voice behave and knew it wasn't working. "So what the hell am I supposed to do?" I am a great actor, always have been, but with Sam there's nothing I can do; my voice always gives me away.

"You go somewhere. Take Cas, get a house, have barbecues and teach him about baseball and pie, about how to be human. Teach the kid enough to be safe, but don't make her be a hunter, Dee. You go and live some normal, apple-pie life. Promise me."

I couldn't answer her for a long time, long enough that she said, "Dina."

"I promise," I said, and didn't cry.

* * *

I didn't hear him behind me—couldn't hear anything much over the memory of Sam's voice, _Dee, it's OK. It's gonna be OK, I've got him._ My right eye was swollen completely shut, my left wasn't much better, and every time I breathed I got that stab that meant my ribs were cracked at least, probably broken. I'd spat out one tooth and there was another that was rocking in its socket and my whole body hurt and none of it mattered because Sam was gone, gone forever, my baby sister, and I'd let her do it. I needed to get away before anyone found me—me, and Bobby's body, and the smear of blood that used to be Cas, and now I had a visual for that little description of Chuck's, which thanks, universe, I really _needed_ to know what an exploding water balloon of chunky soup looked like when it used to be someone I—someone I knew, but I wasn't sure if I could stand up. Sam had made me promise to take Cas somewhere for the life she'd always wanted, and I couldn't even do that. Hell, for all I knew the kid was dead too, or soon would be; beating the shit out of a pregnant woman doesn't tend to go well for the baby, though Lucifer had concentrated on my face so it was possible the kid was OK if I somehow didn't kick off in the next five minutes.

So I didn't hear him. He had to come into my restricted vision before I noticed him. First I registered his shoes, Jimmy's good black leather shoes, and I looked up and he was there.

"Cas," I said, so dumb with shock that I sounded calm. "You're alive?"

"I'm better than that," he said, smiling that tiny little smile. He reached out and touched me, on the forehead like the angels always do, and I gasped in a breath that didn't hurt. All of a sudden I could see through both eyes again.

I wanted to say a hundred things. The one that came out was a question. "Cas, are you God?"

"That's a nice compliment," he said. "But no. Although I do believe he brought me back—new and improved."

I didn't actually manage come up with any reply, and he didn't seem to expect one.

* * *

Bobby wanted me to come back to his place, and eventually I agreed. Nothing said I couldn't take a few days before I started house-hunting.

Maybe house- _hunting_ was a bad choice of words.

Cas climbed into the Impala with me with no comment at all. We drove away from the last place I'd ever see my sister in silence that wasn't as heavy as I expected, and soon enough it was dark. And I couldn't come up with a subtle way to ask, a way to tell him, so eventually I just said, "What are you gonna do now?"

"Return to Heaven, I suppose," Cas said, serene like he was the very first time I saw him, when he didn't understand why I couldn't believe it when he told me he was an angel.

"Heaven," I repeated, and blinked. The headlights of the oncoming cars were making my eyes water and I didn't want him to see it.

"With Michael in the Cage, I'm sure it's total anarchy up there," he said, like that explained anything.

"So, what? You're the new sheriff in town?"

I'd have given about anything for him to tilt his head and say he didn't understand that reference, but just my frickin' luck, this one he got, because he said, "I like that. Yeah, I suppose I am."

"Wow," I said. I didn't bother trying not to sound bitter. "God gives you a shiny set of brand new wings, and suddenly you're his bitch again." Cas had plenty of reason to hate his dad and it seemed weird he'd forgive him, just like that.

"I don't know what God wants," Cas said, calm and certain. "I don't know if he'll return. It just...seems like the right thing to do."

"Well if you do see him, tell him I'm coming for him next," I said. He'd saved Cas, so I'd make it quick, but he hadn't saved Sam.

"You're angry," Cas said.

"That's an understatement," I snarled. Cas sighed, that tiny little _You don't understand the master plan_ sigh that I'd just as happily never have heard again. Got enough of that while the seals were breaking.

"He helped," Cas insisted. "Maybe more than we realize."

"That's easy for you to say. He brought you back. But what about Sam? What about me? All I got is my sister in a hole."

"Dina," Cas said, and apparently he'd been spending too much time with Sam because he was doing the painfully sincere thing now too. "You got what you asked for—no Paradise, no Hell, no destiny. What you do with your life now is for you to choose." And that word made me realize I had to tell him, before he could flap away. I didn't want to do it now, not this way, still expecting to see Sam asleep in the back every time I looked in the rearview mirror, but I couldn't wait.

"Cas," I said, "there's something I have to tell you. Because choosing, that's a thing I can do, and you need to know first."

Cas didn't say anything, but I could feel him waiting. "A couple months ago, when we...when the condom broke. Cas—"

I couldn't say it. I glanced at him, and it was clear I didn't have to. He knew, one way or another; for all I knew he'd felt it when he healed me in the cemetery.

"Sam made me promise," I said, and once I started talking I couldn't stop. "She made me promise to go and, and find a place, with you, and have the kid and have a life, but you were human, almost. She didn't know you were gonna get all angeled up again. I can't...I'm not going to settle down in the fucking suburbs and try to raise a kid by myself and I can't hunt pushing nine months of belly so if you can do something about this it's time to let me know because otherwise I gotta find myself a clinic before it's too late."

I wound down. I mean, where do you go from _I'm pregnant with your kid and I want you to get rid of it for me?_ Not that I was sure I wanted that, exactly, but it sure would be easier. Without the baby to worry about I could throw myself back into hunting, and see how long I lasted. I was honestly betting on "not long", but did I care?

"Dina," Cas said, slowly, carefully, "do you mean you wish me to kill the child you bear?"

I tried not to sound tired when I answered him. I did a crap job of it. "I don't _wish_ it, Cas, but I'm not exactly soccer mom material here, look what just happened to the first kid I tried to raise. You have bigger stuff to do, you have to go run Heaven, and I can't do this by myself. Bobby couldn't deal with a little kid in his place even if I was planning on raisin' it in the panic room and—shit, I don't know, I just—"

I realized that I was breathing too hard, riding the edge of hyperventilating. I pulled over onto the soft shoulder, stopping faster than I should've and not even wincing at the squeal of the brakes, and I threw my car into Park and put my head down on the steering wheel and didn't say anything else because what else was there?

It seemed like a long time later that Cas put one hand on my shoulder. "Returning to Heaven," he said, sounding as if he was feeling his way through the sentence, "doesn't have to mean I never spend any time on Earth."

I picked my head up so I could see him, because I couldn't read his voice. He had that narrowed-eyes look that usually meant he was trying to figure out the best way to get at a demon. His planning face, which was almost as hot as his smiting face. "If you're gonna be sheriff, you can't be worrying about me," I said, because that was just obvious, wasn't it? "That stuff is way more important than me."

"Nothing is more important than you," Cas said, fierce all of a sudden. "If you don't wish a child, Dina, I will help you, but I'm not going to _leave_ you. I'll go to Heaven, to see what needs to be done there, but _I will come back_."

I stared at him for a long time, the lights of passing cars sliding over his face so his eyes flashed blue and then dark over and over. Finally he said, "Unless you don't want me to."

I almost laughed, but he looked so worried I managed to swallow it. "I want you to," I said.

Cas smiled, and I smiled back. The expression felt wrong on my face. It wasn't great, wasn't even good; Sam was still gone. I still had to decide what I was going to do about...well, everything. I still wanted to die, or throw myself head-first into finding a way to get Sam out, or both. But for this second, maybe even this minute, it was OK.

"Can you stay until I get back to Bobby's?" I asked.

"Of course," Cas said.

I put the Impala back in gear.

**Author's Note:**

> Everyone bow to the awesomeness that is the art for this story. Seriously, [sharys_aogail](http://sharys-aogail.livejournal.com/) rocks.
> 
> Here's hoping the TV show references weren't _too_ cheesy...


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